Seeing Red
by BensonKnowsBest
Summary: She wasn't innocent. She'd meant to set him off. She sometimes enjoyed playing with fire, and tonight she was fanning the flames.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer I: I'm feeling somewhat guilt about posting this, which is why I've held out for over a month since it started swirling around in my head. I am apprehensive because this really isn't about a pair of television characters at all, but rather about the real people who play them and their personal lives together. But obviously I didn't feel guilty enough to not put pen to paper. The very fact you're reading this says what a shady character I am.**

 **Disclaimer II: I am and always will be 150 percent EO, although I have incredible appreciation for the work that's been done since CM's departure. Please don't perceive this piece as anti-EO. Proceed at your own risk.**

 **1:06 a.m. Thursday, December 3, 2015**

As her driver turned the corner off of Columbus Avenue, she hit "send" on what she promised herself would be her final Tweet of the night and let her head lull back against the headrest of the large black SUV. She seemed to spend way too much time in vehicles just like this one, and while she often struck up pleasant conversations with her drivers, she sometimes resented spending more time with them than her own family.

Even though it was another night she wouldn't be seeing her babies off to bed, she was happy to be mere moments from home after an especially long day. As soon as she stepped through the large oak doors of their brownstone and into the living room, she knew. He was standing there as if he'd been awaiting her arrival, a glass of white wine in his hand and a predatory look in his eyes. The look wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but one she'd seen far too infrequently in the recent years since their household had expanded from three members to five and she'd become a triple threat in the workplace. It was a look that told her tonight wasn't any other night.

"Hey," she said slowly and cautiously, drawing the word as she met his gaze.

The flannel of his low-slung pajama pants brushed over the tops of his bare feet as he stepped toward her, laced his empty hand into the back of her hair and pressed a firm loving kiss to her forehead. "Hi," was all he whispered in a voice that seemed to grow deeper as it wafted down from his height to hers.

The ample lift of her red suede stiletto heels gave her five added inches of height to see over his shoulder into the darkened living room. It wasn't unlike him to wait up for her - even though tonight she'd arrived home especially late - but he usually did it nestled into the corner of their sectional while watching the late national news. Tonight the TV was off, as were all the lights, and he was clearly ready for bed.

"How'd it go here tonight?" she asked, looking up through his dark-rimmed glasses and into his piercing blue-green eyes.

"Good," he offered without hesitation. "Three for three. They're all asleep. No issues."

She gave him a tired, satisfied smile.

"You hungry, want anything besides this?" he asked, offering her the wine glass.

He watched her take a sip, watched her throat move as she swallowed. She nodded, pulling the glass from her lips. "I'm good. Had some finger food there. At least they fed me."

"Good," he said firmly. He slipped his fingers through those of her empty hand and with the other pushed the button to beckon the elevator that served all six floors of their Upper West Side townhouse. "Then let's go to bed."

As the elevator motor whirred to life, signaling its approach, he hovered over her and pressed her into the wall next to the sliding silver doors. He peered down at her, at the same time reaching out for her wine glass. "You done with this?"

He'd asked, but his body language told her there was only one answer he'd accept. "Um ... I think so yeah," she answered, stealing one last sip.

He took the glass from her fingers and set it down on the side table next to the elevator. He did so without looking, simultaneously pressing into her and burying his mouth in her neck. He drew a long breath, taking in her scent from behind closed eyes.

Her phone hummed in her other hand. Without removing his mouth from her neck, he reached down and pried her phone from her fingers. "No more tonight. I need you."

She sighed deeply, her body riddled with fatigue and something else that was quickly building. Something she hadn't expected tonight.

"I was watching you," he rumbled, the two-day scruff of his unshaven face scraping along her jaw.

She opened her mouth to respond but he cut her off. "That was just … that guy …," he began. "He was … I don't even know what to say.'" Then he drew his lips from her jaw to under her ear.

She wasn't usually one to speak ill of anyone. Her father had taught her to live by the golden rule and that kindness was key. But even she had to admit that of all the questions the late night talk show host could have asked her, the ones he'd chosen had been mostly insignificant and painfully uninsightful. "I know right," she muttered, her head falling back against the wall just as the soft ding signaling the elevator's arrival echoed over them.

The door swung open. He pushed her inside and up against the wall at the left as the doors closed. He first pushed the button for the third floor, then glancing down at her, quickly reached over again and pressed the stop button, effectively halting the car's ascent before it had even begun.

"What's gotten into you tonight?" she asked, reaching her hands up and interlocking her wrists behind his head.

He didn't answer immediately, as he was preoccupied with softly sucking her earlobe.

"His questions didn't challenge you," he finally rumbled, still working at her neck. "So maybe you can answer mine."

She'd never once in all their years together felt afraid of him. And she didn't now. But she was intrigued and quite frankly turned on by this side of him that she'd intended to incite. It was obvious that he wanted her, but she was taken aback at him operating with such intensity. She hoped his next words, his question, would shed some light and confirm her suspicions.

"Just tell me," he said. "Did you wear them for me?"

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he pressed his over hers, his aggressive lips parting hers and his tongue upon hers immediately. She gave in to the kiss. How could she not?

"What, baby? Did I wear what for you?" she asked when he finally relinquished her mouth.

She wanted to hear him say it. So she played dumb for his benefit, flirtatiously behaving as if she had no idea what had set him off or what "them" meant. The use of a plural pronoun confirmed he wasn't referring to her short leather jacket. Her earrings, jewelry and other accessories weren't anything he hadn't seen tens of times before. Her cropped pants had been part of a few outfits in recent weeks. She'd dressed them up and dressed them down, depending on the circumstances. She'd worn them to both the theater and to the set. That left only one possible trigger.

"These shoes," he huffed, reaching a hand behind her knee and drawing her left leg high up on his hip. "These damned red shoes," he growled, pressing his pelvis against her.

She was suddenly so alive. She was tired from a long day on set and a late talk show appearance. And she'd be back on set before dawn. But none of that mattered right now. Because right now she was aroused by his arousal.

She smiled when he acknowledged her suspicions. "You _know_ I did," she offered in a husky whisper. "You _know_ it was for you."

"I knew," he breathed. "You were answering questions ... talking about _him_. But I knew they were for _me_."

He blindly reached out one large hand and swatted at the elevator buttons, effectively disengaging the emergency stop and setting the small square car in motion again.

She moaned into his mouth as the shift caused him to press into her again. The same hand he'd used to reach the buttons he now brought inside the lapel of her leather jacket and closed his palm firmly over her right breast. He kneaded the flesh, while his other hand splayed on her lower back and held her firmly against him.

The elevator stopped, the doors opened and, still intertwined, they stumbled out into the third-floor hallway of their master bedroom. The adjacent dressing area was dark, and the bedroom itself was lit only by a small decorative lamp. He swept his hands inside her jacket and pushed it off her shoulders, carelessly dropping it onto the floor just outside the elevator.

She was completely on board now and began clawing at his navy blue T-shirt. He took his hands off of her long enough to reach behind his neck, pull the shirt off over his head and toss it aside. Then he was on her again, pushing her backwards toward their large platform bed. Her hair fell in natural waves over the duvet as she smiled up at him and watched as he began to undress her.

"I saw you," he announced ominously as he tugged her pants open. He withdrew from her proximity as he lifted one leg and removed her shoe. He didn't drop it to the floor, instead placing it beside her on the mattress while he went for the other. He pressed open-mouthed kisses along her left ankle as he lifted her leg and removed her other shoe.

"I saw how you crossed your legs. How you rolled your ankle toward the camera," he added. "You were talking about _him_ , but you were tempting _me_."

"It was only because they asked," she offered. "They _always_ ask."

"Don't they know what it does to me?" he pressed.

"They don't. But I do," she answered, reaching up and removing his glasses. "I know it makes you like this. That's why I answer."

The glasses and the scruff were a disguise of sorts, perhaps his way of hiding how sinfully handsome he was. On days he wasn't working, he would slip into this other side of himself, taking the edge off the granite features that had left her breathless all those years ago. With a few more pounds and some salty gray at his temples, he was even better looking now than he was then.

He hooked his long fingers into the waistband of her pants and pulled them down her long legs. He didn't get far before she heard him growl again just after discovering the surprise she'd kept for him. It was all the confirmation he needed. Now he knew the shoes had been for him, and they'd only been the tip of the iceberg. As he slid her pants down her legs, he lowered himself over her and grazed her red satin panties with his scruff. He drew in a long breath, inhaling her heat as he freed her feet from her pants. She started to rise up to meet him, reaching out for her shoes beside her and intending to push them off the bed. She suspected they'd need every inch of their California king tonight.

"No," he growled, placing his hand over hers and stilling her. He took a shoe out of her right hand and gazed down at her with fiery eyes. He pulled one long leg up at his side and put her shoe back on. Then he repeated the action on the other leg, mouthing her muscular calf as he did so.

"You like them that much, huh?" she asked rhetorically, her eyes heavy with a blend of lust and amusement. She found his determination irresistible.

"I couldn't take my eyes off of you," he said straddling her body on the bed. "I want you wearing them when I come inside you."

He was her husband, her soulmate, the father of her children, and the only lover she'd had in nearly 15 years. Yet even now he made her stomach plummet with his words.

She arched up toward him as he swept his hands under her top, raising it as his palms moved over her breasts. She wanted his hands on her, on her skin. So while she kissed him she undid the few buttons on her top and wiggled out of it. He wasn't letting up and gave her very little room to move. She managed to get it off and reach behind herself to unclasp her red satin bra. When he saw it - more red, more for him - he ramped up even more, mouthing wetly at her nipples and grinding his hips between her legs.

She could feel him hard against her and remembered back to all those years ago, to the first time in her old place on Bleeker Street, to confirming her suspicions that every part of his body was in proportion to his generous height. That's when she realized she'd been so captivated by his desire tonight that she hadn't yet touched him.

She was determined to snake a hand between them and tug at the string holding up his pajama pants. She knew him, knew how he slept, so she also knew there would be nothing underneath. Once the string was undone, it was effortless to slip her palms into his flannels and feel his ass flex as he ground against her.

He wasa deep thinker and master of at least four languages. An actor, author, advocate and budding photographer, he was sophisticated, introspective, educated and a gentleman through and through. But at times like this - in the privacy of their bedroom - his eloquence often wavered and he told her exactly what he was thinking.

"Fuck yes," he rumbled when he felt her carefully use the inside of her shoes to push his pajama pants down his legs, wedging his rigid cock against her abdomen. The sensation of the scalloped sides of her shoes smoothing down the outside of his thighs incited him further. He moved abruptly, wrapping his fingers around the sharp heel of each shoe, lifting and pushing backwards until her feet were near her ass and her legs were wide open around him, her knees bent and both heels digging into the duvet.

With his palms flat against the mattress on either side of her, he looked down at the most private parts of her glistening before him, glanced back up at her wanton face and smirked at her. Then she could no longer see his eyes, as he lowered his head and dipped the tip of his tongue into her. She arched up to him, as he used the thumb and forefinger of his left hand to part her so he could explore her further.

He'd come to know what worked for her, what she liked, but he wasn't sure he'd have the patience to give it all to her tonight. He'd been fighting his frenzied body since he saw her on television nearly two hours ago. He found himself thinking how odd it was that she was his and would be coming home to him - he had no doubts about that - yet seeing her on television like everyone else did had ignited him tonight.

As he lapped at her, in his periphery he could see one heel digging into the mattress. His eyes followed its sharp lines up her ankle and along her toned calf. He wanted her wrapped around him.

She drove her fingers through his sandy brown hair and relaxed her legs, letting them fall as wide open as possible around his shoulders. She'd always given him all of her, and tonight was no different. When he slipped a single finger inside and kept working his tongue outside, she writhed under him and smiled to herself at how well he knew her. She showed him some appreciation by lifting her heels off the bed and resting the arches of her shoes over his large shoulders. It was her way of reminding him what had gotten them here so quickly in the first place.

As she moved her feet a little, lightly grinding the underside of her shoes into his shoulders, he pulled his mouth away from her. "I can't," he muttered almost desperately. "I can't wait."

She looked downright devilish when she smiled down at him and said, "Then don't."

Her feet flew off his shoulders when he rose abruptly, growling as he wrestled his feet the rest of the way out of his pajama pants and gripped himself firmly in his right hand. He moved between her legs, the outside of his thighs smoothing up the inside of hers. He brought his head to her opening and watched her face paint over with pleasure as he slid himself along her folds, gathering her moisture on himself. But enough was enough.

He kept watching her and gripping himself as he pressed his tip into her opening, then released his hand as the whole length of him slowly disappeared inside of her. She released the longest lust-filled grown as she felt him fill her.

They'd done this hundreds of times in all the best ways and then some, but each time she was reminded of his sheer size. The way he consumed all the space inside her was in complete contrast to how incredibly in tune with her needs he'd always been, careful with his touches, always making sure she was comfortable before driving his hips forward. The fact of the matter was he was a large man, towering over her by some nine inches in height while standing and surrounding her with his body in bed. She never felt safer than when she was under him, but tonight he was impatient, spurred on by those damned shoes.

He lifted up on his palms as he moved slowly at first, looking down at her and biting at his own bottom lip as he nestled inside her. He was trying like hell to show some restraint. "We good?" he asked.

And now her graces were gone. "Fuck yes," she urged. "Do it."

He pulled back and surged forward again, eliciting a sound from her that made them both glad that their children were asleep on an entirely different floor of the house. He grinned at her, at the reaction she'd offered and did it again. And again. Until she started moving with him, pushing up into him as he drove down into her.

They fell into a rhythm, his left hand palming her face as he kissed her. When he pulled his mouth away, she took to tonguing his thumb, working at it until she had at least the first knuckle in her mouth. She sucked at it and swirled her tongue over its tip in time with his hips. He opened his eyes to see her mouth moving over his thumb, her eyes closed, her long fingers clawing at his lower back.

"That's it baby," he coaxed. "Now let me feel them."

She knew what he wanted, so she wrapped her legs as tightly around his wide hips as she could and pressed the heels of her shoes first into the backs of his thighs and then into his buttocks. The sensation was intensified by the realization that the shoes she was wearing for _him_ \- while people questioned her about another man - were wrapped around _him_ while he bottomed out inside of her. The thought made him nearly feral, fueling deep and powerful thrusts that had her moaning and cussing from underneath him.

She was every bit of what people thought she might be in bed - erotic, emotional, responsive and, more often than not, incredibly naughty. What they sometimes failed to realize is that she didn't and never would belong to that other man. She was his.

 **As many of you surely know, there's been a recent reappearance of these shoes. That being said, there _will_ be a Chapter 2 in the near future.**


	2. Chapter 2

He stirred awake in the early gray-blue hours of the Manhattan morning. He wasn't sure what woke him, but it wasn't her because she was gone. She was always gone by now, whisked away by a dark SUV, it's exhaust rising into the frosty darkness along West 84th Street as she headed toward the Piers. For the better part of eight months out of the year he settled for waking up without her, as long as he got to fall asleep with her.

He rubbed a palm over his scruffy face, his piercing eyes staring blindly through the darkened room as he remembered last night and how she'd unraveled him so easily this many years into their romance. They were lucky. They didn't have to work at it, at stirring the spark or stoking the flame. Surely it didn't burn as hot as it had in the early days, but there were moments - much like last night - when they still craved each other.

He sighed heavily, dropping his hand against the bed beside him and willing himself to get up, well aware that the young ones would be up soon. He reluctantly pulled back the duvet, feeling a slight chill against his bare midsection. He tied the waist on his pajama pants, stood and stretched his arms overhead, his long frame elevating his knuckles nearly to the ceiling. The room was still dim, the sun only stirring outside. He padded thru the darkness, stumbling as he rounded her side of the bed toward the bathroom. The groan he expelled was cut short when he looked down and his sleepy eyes saw what lay in his path - her shoes strew on the carpet, one upright on its sole and the other laying haphazardly on its side. He smiled, bending to scoop them up and walk them to her closet. They were precious to him somehow, so he stood them both upright neatly at her closet door before turning toward the shower.

* * *

 **January 12, 2016**

Tonight was different. Many times throughout the year he stood proudly at her side for photo ops, walked hand in hand with her to special events, could not hide how proud he was to be her other half. Every so often their roles reversed and he was the one in the spotlight and she was elated to support him. The cable comedy he'd been cast in was seeing some success with a growing TV audience and a budding social media following. She'd come far enough and carried enough clout in her own world that she didn't have to hurdle many obstacles to carve out time to be on his arm. He was hopeful when he'd asked her this morning - as she was leaving their bed around 5 a.m. - if she'd be able to make it to his cast party tonight. She'd smiled softly at him, kissed him firmly on the lips and nearly whispered, "You know I'll be there," before she slipped out of bed and into the shower. He'd be terribly disappointed if she couldn't keep her promise but he'd understand.

Her day was running long and running behind when she'd texted him mid afternoon to say she'd meet him there instead of riding to the venue with him. This happened too sometimes but he knew he'd have her better late than never.

A small group of paparazzi fired away from behind the stancion ropes of the small red carpet area the network had roped off for photo ops. He popped in and out of photos with his cast mates and extended his own long arms several times to take selfies with his own phone and those of his co-stars. He was busy enough that he wasn't counting the minutes that had slipped away past 7 p.m. and she hadn't arrived yet.

A young reporter from a Hollywood tabloid show had grabbed him for an on-camera interview. He was happy to oblige, as promoting the show – a project about which he was truly excited – came naturally to him. He was stringing together words effortlessly, explaining with laughter how his significantly younger cast mates were schooling him in the ways of social media, when he saw her. She was far off stepping through the entrance of the restaurant. As she made her way through the crowd, stopping to shake hands and offer kisses to the cheeks of those she knew, the first thing he noticed about her was her smile. It was infectious and perhaps the single most lethal weapon she'd employed to capture his interest and then his heart all those years ago. He kept talking to the reporter, but couldn't keep his eyes from slipping toward here as she made her way closer. It was only when she cleared the last 20 feet toward him and stepped around another couple that he saw her head to toe.

He swallowed hard, almost audibly, losing his train of thought and stumbling slightly over his words. The young reporter could see his subject was distracted and instinctively turned to see what had distracted the interviewee. Her hair was perfectly parted and her lips perfectly glossed. The black top she wore plunged deeply in the front, reaching the apex of her bra beneath. It was tucked into a tight black, leather skirt that hugged her hips as it made its way down toward her knees. Her olive-skinned legs were bare and also shimmering down to her ankles, which were tucked into the very same red stilettos that just over a month ago had left him impulsive and demanding.

The young reporter's eyes traveled quickly along her body and, even though she was much older than him, he too was taken by her appearance. He glanced back at the older actor with a knowing smirk, somehow sensing the interview was now over. "Well … um … I guess we're done here. Thanks for your time." And then he was gone, leaving no barrier between husband and wife, who, at this moment, were being pulled together like lustful strangers who'd had yet to touch.

He stepped to her and she leaned into him. "Hey, Baby," she said against his ear as they embraced. He pulled back, holding her hands in his and eyeing her head to toe. "You … look …" but he trailed off, not sure what words to put to what he was seeing and feeling.

"Thank you … I think," she offered with a flirtatious smile. "Sorry I'm late. How's it going?

At first she didn't think he'd heard her question. It took him a few seconds to answer, as if he wasn't entirely in the moment. "Oh, um, good," he stuttered. "Very good. Lots of coverage. Everyone's here."

"Did I make it in time for dinner?" she asked, glancing around the room.

"We were just about to sit," he said, reaching for her hand and leading her through the reception area to the dining tables set aside for the cast and crew. She greeted and embraced those she knew, one co-star who'd guested on her own show, and the female lead who'd they seen in a few Broadway shows.

The cast was seated on one side of a long table, while their spouses, partners and plus-ones sat across from them. The dinner conversation was robust, and the wait staff kept their wine glasses full. From across the table he watched her toss her hair, throw her head back in laughter, and wrap her slender fingers around her wine glass. She was magnetic and had no problem keeping conversation with even those she was meeting for the first time. She was so preoccupied he was certain she didn't notice him soaking her in. Of course he wasn't rude, engaging his cast mates, obliging when they egged him to take selfies, and politely responding to the wait staff as they served him.

He was awaiting the punch line of a story told by one of the associate producers when he was startled by what was surely her foot poking at the hem of his tailored slacks. He threw his eyes toward her in surprise but she gave no tell, no acknowledgement. She was so coy and straight-faced, he actually began to silently question whether he'd felt it all. And then her foot was higher, the sharp heel of red stilettos, gently stroking his thigh, pressing gently to open his legs further. He tried, he really did, not to look down into his lap. But he was guilty of peeking just once to assure himself it was actually happening. Then he had to reach into his arsenal of acting skills to cover his emotional and physical reaction to her seduction.

He took a long, long blink and nearly whimpered as the pointed toe of her shoe grazed his growing manhood. He was in trouble now. He couldn't make a fool of himself here, and if she didn't stop now, he wouldn't be able to stand up from the table without embarrassing both of them. He cleared his throat, sat straight up his seat and grabbed his cell phone, pretending to intently read a phantom text message. She took note of his sudden movements and laughed internally at her successful attempt to stimulate him.

"Hey, uh, can I borrow you a second?" he asked, his voice nearly cracking as he leaned across the table so she would hear him.

"Now?" she asked, wickedly pulling off a look of surprised innocence.

"Yeah. Now," he said firmly to her.

"Can you please pardon us a few minutes," he offered toward their tablemates. We have to call home, babysitter needs us."

He'd caught her off guard, and she immediately dropped her foot as concern filled her frame. He came around the table and took her hand, making a beeline for a concierge. His long legs and looming frame left her no choice but to keep pace with him. Yet she tugged back on his hand and stopped his forward movement. "Is something wrong?" she demanded to know, visions of their children dancing through her head. "It will be fine, just come with me," he said.

He approached the concierge and leaned in close, asking "We have a little emergency at home," he said, waving his cell phone casually. "Is there anywhere quiet where we can make a call?"

She couldn't hear what the waiter said but she saw him motion toward the front left corner of the venue. Then all at once he was pulling her again. Years of walking in heels gave her the skills to keep up as he steered them through the crowd and around other tables. Next thing she knew the crowd noise was fading as he led her down a small hallway, into an alcove, and past the coat check. He nodded at the clerk and kept moving, turning the doorknob of a closed room nearby and reaching his long arm around the doorframe to feel for the light switch. She followed him in and step aside as he closed – and locked – the door behind her.

She was worried now. "Tell me. Tell me what's going on? Is it one of the kids?"

But he didn't answer. In an instant he'd swung her around and wedged her body between his and the wall. He drove his face into her neck and nearly bit her, a low growl erupting from him. "The kids are fine," he said firmly. "But I'm not. What the hell are you trying to do to me?"

With his face buried in her neck, he couldn't see the worry drain from her face and the satisfied smile that replaced it. "I was just ,,,," an impromptu moan interrupting her sentence, "trying to have a little fun."

"Jesus, you've got me hard as a rock," he rumbled, grinding his hips against her. There was no mistaking it. She knew that feeling pressing against her mid-section, and she knew this frenzied side of him. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't meant to draw it out. She just intended it to be later, at home.

"We can't do this," she offered weakly against his hungry mouth. "You have to get back out there and do your thing. It's your night."

"I can't," he said almost desperately as he pulled his mouth from hers and threw his heavy breaths against her face. "I can't focus. I need to … I want you … I don't know what to do."

The desperation in him stirred something deep within her. His hunger for her made her hungry for him. She kissed him hard and pressed her palm against the front of his pants, sliding it along his length and applying pressure. He rumbled again and slid his right hand down and to the hem of her leather skirt. "Tell me," he breathed against her mouth. "What are you wearing under this damned thing?"

She summoned the most innocent smile she could muster when she said, "Panties."

He was way past playing here. "God damn it," he growled as he reached around, palmed her ass and pulled her body firmly against him. She managed to free her hand from between them. She used both hands to push into his shoulders and create a little space between them. He couldn't believe she was putting on the brakes. Good thing she wasn't.

Before he could protest, she began to disappear from his line of sight. She lowered herself along the wall, reaching down to hike up her tight leather skirt so she could stoop in front of him. She immediately busied herself with the bulge she'd create in his pants. His eyes slammed shut, his mouth fell open and his head lulled back.

"You don't have to do …" he offered weakly, breathlessly.

"Hey!" she commanded from below him. He opened his eyes to look down at her. Christ. She brought a single finger to her lips and quieted him. "Let me work. We don't have much time."

He felt like he should fight her. It didn't feel right having her on her knees in this public place. She'd worked all day, come here to support him and now was about to devour him. But he honestly didn't have much fight left in him. The moment he'd seen her walk in he knew he wouldn't sleep tonight until he'd had her. And when she'd used her foot to demolish his impulse control, he knew they wouldn't even make it home.

She unbuckled his belt, undid the button on his pants and began to lower his zipper carefully over the bulge. She smiled a little to herself, knowing she'd been the one to elicit this reaction from him. She rubbed him firmly through his briefs with one hand as she used the other to tuck her own hair out of the way behind her ears.

He reached down with three fingers and lifted her chin so he could meet her eyes. "God, I love you," he said. She knew. She'd always known. Yet she was still giving him new reasons to say it. She smiled softly up at him, mouthing "I know" as she untucked his cock from his underwear. It's weight sprung free in her hand. She wasted no time in running her tongue from bottom to top along its underside. She listened to his groans from above to navigate what would get him there most quickly.

She licked its length a few more times before she wrapped her lips around the head and began to take his hard heat into her mouth. When he felt as if she would swallow him whole, he pressed one large palm against the wall in front of him to steady himself. The warm wetness of her mouth dragged along his cock and the feeling was nearly unbearable.

It felt so fucking good, but he didn't want her like this. He moved quickly, pulling himself from her mouth and pulling her to her feet in front of him. She was somewhat startled and began to protest. "No," he said firmly, placing his own finger over her lips to stifle her protest. "I want to be inside you."

His words resonated in her belly as he turned her and walked her backwards to a six-foot laminate table further into the room. She held onto him as he lifted her onto it and hiked up her leather skirt so she could open her legs for him to step between them. He pulled her long legs up around his hips and slid his hands up the back of her thighs and under the skirt to find her panties. He was beyond caring about their color or fabric. He just wanted them off.

He moved quickly and when she would recount this moment in her mind later, she'd be unable to remember how he'd removed them. She only knew that her skirt was up, her legs were open and she was frantically pushing his shirt up and his pants down. He tugged her toward himself and the edge of the table as she fisted his cock. He drew three fingers upward through her wetness, finally eliciting a moan from her and a twitch from his dick, which was grinding in her hand. They didn't speak anymore – not words anyway – as she aligned him and he surged forward. He was inside her all at once and she thought she'd explode just from the moment of impact alone.

He was a machine now, reaching around and filling his hands with her ass cheeks as he pulled her against him. She rested her elbows behind her on the table and held on for dear life as he fucked her firmly. She could see him disappearing inside her and, all at once, she was happy they didn't wait until they got home. They could hear the muffled sounds of the music bumping outside in the restaurant, but it was secondary to the sound of his skin slapping against hers and the table beneath her creaking with the force of his thrusts and her shoes – those fucking red shoes – sliding along his ass.

"Fuck, baby, " he uttered as he drew her face to his and drove his tongue between her lips. She sucked on his tongue as she'd done his cock and rocked her lower body into his each time he filled her completely. He circled her clit with one thumb as he watched himself disappear inside her. The sight drew him closer to the edge and he sped up, hurdling toward his climax. She heard the rumble begin deep within him and felt the telltale jerkiness of his pounding thrusts. As he came, the head of his cock slamming against her cervix, she erupted too. She clenched at him as the waves rolled through her and he groaned above her. Finally he stilled inside her and collapsed forward toward her as her final waves squeezed his cock.

They were both spent. It was for much younger people to carry on like this, spur of the moment, in a public place, for a fully-clothed fuck on a Tuesday night in the middle of winter.


End file.
